Friday, 23 August 2013

Flowers on Gravestones

Silken shapes of floral flesh released a heady perfumed aroma as layers were
traced with tip of a finger, the petals ruffled like luxurious petticoats. The
scent evoked immeasurable memories and the texture alone brought reminiscence
of a certain feminine curves.

I held the rose within my fingertips. At least I assumed it was a rose, it’s
fragrance held a familiar opulent depth. Fingering its stem and wincing for the
welcome sting of ripened thorn I trod the seeping shadows of a familiar quiet graveyard,
a place I liked to dwell recently since discovering the solitude beyond the
weather worn gate at the corner of the street. Here I liked to keep company of
the headstones, breath in the grief and ponder the shadows. Such sorrowful atmosphere
allowed one to focus. At least it did me.

I mused upon the reason people left flowers upon graves. Was it to paint the
drab eerie gloom with bursts of colour? An attempt to smother the lingering
scent of death? Or perhaps was company for those past for soon would each bloom
wither and fade as all life did, left to rot.
Arm extended before me, delicate bloom held between finger and thumb at its
stem I trod onwards carefully through the dim mists that swirled having risen
to escape the dregs of sodden water that flooded the ground after now simmering
storm, rose held before me as if an invisible guiding light. Soft, wild and heady
scent wafted alluringly carrying aroma beyond its own; the lingering scent of
the one whom left it as token of respect touched and tasted upon my tongue. A
female, elderly perhaps, though scent alone made it hard to tell.

Boots took me full circle, back to where I had first plucked the rose from
its resting place. Here her scent was stronger and accompanied by the heavy
weight of emotion upon the air. Amidst the dirt and stone I crouched down
twirling the petals slowly, eyes aching to see its fragile beauty. Arm
extended, tips of fingers anticipating meeting of stone. When it came it was
damp, nails grazing lightly against thin layer of mildew and gathered mush of leaves
and dirt that had snuck into the crevasses of carved letters yet even trying to
discern with careful tracing I could not make out the words. In Loving Memory?
Here Lies Someone? A name, a date? Ode to a mother, a father, a child or
friend?

Steadying myself against the headstone I discovered its shape, a rounded
arch of simplicity that by its crumbling texture did it appear ancient in its
own way though in reality perhaps little more than a decade or two in age. Merely
a blink in time for the likes of me. Allowing my shoulders to slump I drew in a
deep breath, inhaling a well of sorrow and grief. Such emotions were to be
expected in such a place yet here specifically there was more. Anger, hints of
bitterness and beneath it all, despairing bewilderment. I bowed my head deeply,
bracing weight forward against my arm inhaling this lingering echo of psyche
deep into craving lungs, basking in the sensation of sating an almost carnal
need.
Slowly my free hand rose to the talisman lain against my chest, fingers
stroking at one of five empty crystals; for all of them were empty, bar one.
The arcane glass shimmered with blue iridescence, contact sounding an almost
ethereal chime. The vibrating sound was one of those that could take you back,
snatch one away from their moment in time and drop them back into the past
where memory was first embedded in such hearing. I could feel my mind pulled almost
against my will causing a near violent shake of head. I would not go there, not
today.I pulled back,
rolling my shoulder as I straightened, fighting the head rush that descended
from such decadent and macabre feasting. I attuned my focus to the flower still
held. Not everything had to fade, not everything had to die. Even if to endure
it ceased to live. That paradox was within my power to grant.

“Well now...let us see if we can freeze you in time...ever bright, ever
in bloom, ever beautiful” At least maybe until a time I could see once
more. Even though such time would never come. I liked to pretend otherwise
sometimes.
Laying the flower within my palm I rest back upon my knees, eyes blinking
painfully behind blindfold. With deep breath inhaled I lifted my head exhaling
slowly. About me the shadows rolled, slipping one after the other in a mesh of
opposing light. They were always there and something I was used to, often
bringing a strange sense of comfort in times alone where there were no bright
glowing auras to turn my gaze. Yet now my focus drew upon them more acutely,
wishing to see between them and invite them closer, unlike others who needed
first to somehow cross that divide. Being half way there I had but to beckon.
My fingers twitched as a cool breeze rustled all about, refreshing though full
of both foreboding and promise. Unbeknown to me the tiny blood red rose petals
bristled with the unfurling of careful fingers, offering my bloom to the
waiting umbra. The shadows slithered and whispered causing my lips to softly
smile, head angled downwards as small catch of breath sounded at back of my
throat. The hinted shape of stem and petals wavered in the breeze, gradually devoid
of colour save a spectrum of grey and yet was somehow all the more alluring as
shadows coiled tight all about each tiny fragment, outlining their shape. “May
I keep you always” my voice hushed into the subtle breeze and gently the
bloom rose from my palm, twisting gracefully as carried within a shadowy orb that
floated close, ensnaring the bloom between two worlds; never to shed petal or
indeed its seed, no life to give and none to take, suspended forever in a
captured moment. With small incline of head the protective orb moved
closer to the waiting crystal that now vibrated with a low hum against my
throat. With the attraction similar to that of a magnet did the shadow rose
absorb within, held for all fate and fortune within the power of the Void.
Slightly shaking, my fingers curled over the crystal accompanied by small snuff
of air and thus all was sealed. The bloom was forever mine..

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About the Author

Freelance writer, event organiser, roleplayer, amateur photographer, wannabe domestic goddess, wife and mummy! I am the author of The Malachi Chronicles, a blog-journey that follows the life of one of my most prized literary creations.

Though living in the 'real world' for thirty three years now I have always written creatively in some capacity. In whatever manifestation writing is for me an escape, a comfort and a stimulant all at once.

Occasionally I will struggle to find my muse, often when my mind prefers to wonder upon the need for a good cup of tea! But for all my lows there are far more highs, many 'Aha!!!' moments...they are the best kind, even when struck whilst traipsing the aisles of Sainsburys. Often my overactive imagination and its timing confound me.

Malachi was born in my mind long ago but only more recently brought to life within the virtual roleplaying world. Here his character was further solidified and his interactions and unveiling path a breeding point for more substance and depth.

The Chronicles are Malachi's story as he walks the planes of Time and learns to adapt to ever differing cultures and worlds. I get a huge kick from having people beg to know what he's been up to.